


Restless

by Hurricos



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur is a rich mansion owner here, Delusions, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Mystery, Plot Twists, Rich boi Arthur, Romance, These tags are not doing me service, but I can't say much more or I'll ruin the plot, potential smut, reader is a housemaid/servant, red dead redemption 2 au, slow burn sort of, these tags seem really random
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hurricos/pseuds/Hurricos
Summary: You are a housemaid at a rich family’s gorgeous Saint Denis residence when a marital dissolution forces you out of work.You are quickly offered work at a strange and forlorn old Manor House in the Ambrino region, and it seems your luck is about to change. Your new Master, Mr Morgan, is a charming man with an aloof and mysterious element to him that you cannot quite fathom - which only succeeds in drawing you in further.With the eerie and strange behaviour of the few who inhabit the mansion stirring your curiosity - you soon learn the secrets and hopes of this ageing old house and it’s owner.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49





	1. Enter

**Author's Note:**

> So, thank you all for taking a chance if you’re reading this. It’s certainly a strange and different fic to anything I’ve written/or read in this fandom before so I hope you enjoy.

The downfall of another seemingly ‘perfect’ marriage had cost you your job. The infidelity of a husband gone astray to his mistress had ripped apart the Warrington family and suddenly the grand old house on the prettiest and most wealthy lane in Saint Denis was empty. Empty of the once strong family, its lavish furniture and it’s staff. Which happened to include you.

You were merely a housemaid, not a senior one at that. You scurried about, making beds and tidying up after the Warrington children - two horrible snotty little brats who were sure to feel the wrath of financial deprivation off the back of their parent’s parting. 

So, with no family to tend to and no house to preen - you found yourself in the familiar and uncomfortable position of looking for work. 

It had been a number of weeks since you had signed up to an agency after leaving the Warrington’s home, spending your time dashing between the various shops and big houses in town - putting out your interest in looking for work, but nothing ever seemed to come to fruition. Nights began to meld together like candles dwindled down by a hot flame, the same monotonous lamp lit dreariness looking at the same four walls in the hotel - hearing the noise of other patrons and the sound of your own desperate thoughts in your head.

-

Your desperation was beginning to simmer hot, like a pot of water threatening to boil over on the stove. With the pennies in your pocket every disappearing, your panicked thoughts began to wonder over whether you’d have to turn to ... other means to source money. Using your body for cash was certainly something you didn’t want to have to do, but in this cruel world it seemed many a few women found themselves doing so in order to survive.

Just when things looked at their bleakest, you received a letter from the agency informing you of a large estate, just north west of Saint Denis, not too far from the pretty wilderness of Ambrino. It appeared, to your surprise, there was a large manor home situated up there and the agency had been contacted to enquire about your availability.

The cursive and well maintained handwriting of the letter seemed to convey the estate had seemed rather ... keen to have you come as soon as possible.

That worked all the better for you! Leaving the smoky haze and murky fog of Saint Denis behind, with its grimy cobbles and drunk infested streets - would be rather well replaced with the fresh, crisp country air of Ambrino. 

So when the next day or so passed by, and you had alerted the agency to confirm with your new employers that you would be arriving soon - your heart was filled with promised content. 

You dropped the required coins into the hand of the carriage driver that morning, feeling a sense of adventure about you when you stepped into the grey carriage with the few belongings you earned. A new life and a fresh start might give you more purpose, and a stable means of income and a roof over your head meant a lot to you. You’d spent a troublesome childhood with a drunk father and a mother who couldn’t of cared less about her child - sitting in a barely there shack with its holey roof and rotten floorboards.

It was time to leave that all in the past.

-

Landscapes rolled on past your window - rich earthy reds and slumping willows of Lemoyne transpired into fresh green fields and wide open spaces, filled with wild horses and gentle farm folk herding their cattle. All you could do was watch in contented awe, you’d never seen so much grass and blue sky before.

Gazing into the lap of your modest grey linen dress, you stared at the platinum pocket watch and eyed the time. It was early afternoon, and you had asked the agency to make the estate aware you should be there for around tea time. Anxiousness bubbled in your stomach alongside the otherwise brimming excitement, you could not wait to see this place. You had no idea there could be a Manor House in such untamed wilderness.

The Heartlands faded into the horizon as the carriage began making a slow descent up into the hilly gradient of Ambrino, the horses grunting and snorting with all their might as they trudged their way through the rather upright tracks.

Your eyes witnessed tree after towering tree roll past your gaze, a pretty amalgamation of green - the occasional buck or doe prancing between the thick brown trunks.

The higher the carriage went and the further it trundled on into the thick of the forests around these parts, the more you tried to crane your neck to get the best view of where exactly this house was. You imagined it would be perhaps in the clearing of all these broad conifers, their vast beauty was a picture of perfect peace but - collectively they did cast a rather eerie shadowy darkness to the landscape.

This shadow seemed to be at it’s darkest, when the carriage did eventually slow to a halt.

“We have arrived, Miss.” the carriage driver said as he had opened your door, and you tried to somewhat hide the surprise on your face. Already your mind was struggling to cope with the fact that this... was not exactly what you were expecting. 

Feet finding their way to the step of the carriage, you gingerly placed your boots into the miry damp earth and gazed just before the carriage.

In the midst of these matured bushes and ferns, a stone wall peeked through - in mere glimmers of dull grey between the otherwise rich greens of the smothering leaves and vines that held it tight, years of overgrowth evident in the uncultivated stems of green that swamped the old stone built wall.

A little further down there was a break in the wall, and a muddy track led upwards through the many large boulders, well spread ferns and grand old trees. Your eyes could not help but follow the faint marking of the path - and eventually came upon the house that would seem to be your new home and workplace.

What a structure. You couldn’t help but step closer to the wall as the carriage driver unloaded your things. It was a grey stone built house, tall and almost gothic looking. Nothing in comparison to the styles chosen for the fine houses around these parts. In fact it looked like a mansion straight out of a fairytale novel.

Or perhaps a penny dreadful. This house was gorgeous but there was no evading it’s evident lack of care and attention. Lichen greedily occupied most of the grey stone exterior, windows and their frames looked tired and in need of repair. The roof too with typical old tiles looked as if it needed repointing. In fact the more you looked, the more you saw the dilapidation of the place. A momentary panic crossed your mind ... just why exactly had you been called here? This certainly didn’t give you the impression of an ‘estate’ needing a maid.

“Miss (surname)?”

The sound of a voice whipped you to the present, and as you turned you saw an older man with white hair, a slight fragility to his stooped figure. He was leaning on a pitchfork, and looked as if he had come from that very unmanaged front garden.

“Good afternoon,” you started, “I hope I’m not too early.”

“Nonsense, you’re right on time.” The older man smiled, leaning his pitchfork up against the stone wall as he made his way over to introduce himself.

“Name’s George.” He shook your hand firmly, “I suppose ya might say I’m a gardener of sorts.” He chuckled, and it was then you really did have to suppress any sort of shock on your face. What exactly was he gardening with? His mind? This place looked as if it hadn’t seen a pair of hedge trimmers in decades.

“Come on, let me show y’ to the house.” He smiled quickly, ushering your bags from the carriage driver, carrying them for you as he steamed ahead up the path. “Mr Morgan has been waitin’ anxiously for ya’ to arrive!”

You could only assume Mr Morgan was the owner of the house, and therefore your new boss. Following meekly behind George, you smoothed your hands across your skirts and drew in a deep breath - anxious as to what else might surprise you today.

-

Upon entering under the imposing archway of the main double doors, your figure graced the foyer of your new ‘home’ for the first time - and by god, did it impress - and shock all the same.

Your brain automatically fixed on the beauty beneath the obvious layers of dust and cobwebs, like grandeur buried under years and years of sadness and neglect. 

A large set of oak stairs were the pinnacle focal point of the large hallway, the stair runner carpet - although royally red and intricately designed, was frayed and caked a ghostly grey powdering of dirt and dust.

“To your left is the Master’s study.” George announced, pulling your wandering eyes from the tiredly illustrious decor, and back to the present moment. 

“He spends most of his time in there during the day, so I expect you’ll frequent that room soon.” The older man chuckled, his attention deferring once again as a solemn and darkly dressed figure emerged from a long corridor that ran just past the left side of the enormous staircase.

“Oh, pardon, Mrs Radley.” George suddenly seemed to shrink back in himself slightly as the slight yet tall figure of a woman dressed into a dark grey dress and pinafore appeared in the foyer with you both.

“Is this our new maid?” The woman labelled Mrs Radley queried from the now timid looking gardener.

“Yes,” you answered for yourself, bobbing a polite curtsey to the older woman - her cold and almost discerning eyes fleeting attentively over you. “I’m (name). So glad to meet you, Mrs Radley.”

The woman sniffed singularly, her hands linked neatly over the front of her pinafore.

“Very well,” was all she said, angling her gaze quickly at the gardener who appeared to sheepishly shrinking back in the conversation. “George... you may return to your duties in the grounds of the house.” She said with an austere tone that gave you some indication of the type of woman you were dealing with. 

With your cases now left at your feet, the gardener quick to retreat upon instruction. Without leaving you a second to gather your senses as well as your belonging, the woman started to stride on with a purpose. It left you scrambling behind her, eyes fixated on her grey wiry hair fixed tightly into a bun, and the rigidity of her posture. She almost seemed skeletal in that sense.

“I am the Head Housekeeper here at Sage House.” Mrs Radley started as you followed her hurried footsteps up the rich dark wood of the stairs. “Therefore you will report to me as well as Mr Morgan.” She instructed, with the stern tone of a disappointed teacher that made you feel like a mere child again.

“That’s quite alright, Mrs Radley.” You returned, unable to stop your eyes from roaming as you entered this new area of the Manor House. It’s dark walls were lined with various portraits, all of them eerie in some way or another. Rounding the landing, which was almost on a mezzanine floor overlooking the lower hallway area - you were delivered to a door.

“This will be your room. Try to remain astute at all times. The master may wish to call on you at any time.” The older woman pushed the door back to reveal a modest room, with a single bed, dresser unit and a wardrobe. It was comfortable enough and the security of this new post made it all the more special to you.

“It’s perfect.” You smiled earnestly, “thank you for this opportunity, Mrs Radley.” 

The housekeeper offered just a flicker of a smile, a flash of fondness. As if her mind had rediscovered a warm memory of a fond friend. And she had looked at you just like that, with a familiar and informal glint of joy. But just as quickly as you had noticed her austerity slip, she quickly reprimanded herself. 

“Of course.” Was all she said, clearing her throat. “Once you have unpacked, I shall introduce you to Mr Morgan.” She informed, hand ghosting over the brass of the door knob as she drew it closed - a moment of peace in what would seem to be an environment where you would see little time to yourself.

-

A strange and unsettling sense of anxiety enveloped you like an unwelcome embrace once you had finished your packing and found yourself following Mrs Radley back down the stair case.

Maybe it was the uninhabited feeling of this cold house, it’s eerie portraits and the strange feeling of displacement it conveyed. It was a structure that stood as evident as the trees in the forests or the rocks on the mountains - however it felt strangely unreal, like a place time had forgotten. A ghost of a home.

“Mr Morgan is very excited to meet you, Miss.” Mrs Radley informed you as the pair of you reached the base of the stairs. The nerves were growing strong in your stomach.

There it was, the office door - shut, as it had been the first time George made a point of identifying the study to you.

Yourself and Mrs Radley approached the doors, the older woman knocking quickly - as you waited on bated breath for a response.

“Come in.” A low voice returned, one which filled you with initial fear. Mr Morgan certainly sounded devoid of any enthusiasm, and you wondered whether Mrs Radley’s earlier statement had held any truth.

With a controlled motion, the housekeeper pushed the door back and led the way into the surprisingly light office. One tall arched window was situated behind the back of the desk, the long rectangular room lined with tall bookcases, filled with all sorts of literature.

“Mr Morgan,” Mrs Radley started, standing aside as you got your first proper look at the man you would now be acting as a maid for. 

“May I introduce Miss (name). She arrived around an hour ago.” 

All you could do was try to frame your polite smile, eyes settled on the back of the man in his fitted black suit - before his piercing blue gaze turned to settle on your own. He was considerably more handsome than you had ever imagined. 

Stubble framed his angular jaw, his oceanic blue eyes surveyed you in such a way you almost felt a blush threaten at your cheeks. His previously inanimated expression motioned into life as he locked his eyes onto you - and an unexpected smile appeared onto his face.

“You’re....” he paused, the smile was strangely akin to that of Mrs Radley’s earlier one of softened elation and fondness. Not a greeting you expected from a group of complete strangers.

Mr Morgan quickly looked to Mrs Radley, who must of shot him a look that had him quickly correcting his behaviour.

“... thank y’ for makin’ it here so quickly.” He then said to you, with a much more controlled tone of voice. You nodded softly, eyes falling to the floor momentarily out of respect and also to hide the warmth in your cheeks. His voice was incredibly enchanting in an surprising way, a rugged yet soft southern drawl. Like honeyed whisky.

“Thank you for offering me a position here so quickly, sir.” You returned politely, clutching your hands together softly as you once again met his eyes. The man hadn’t moved from his spot where he stood behind his desk. 

There it was again, a tender smile that appeared to be somewhat more restrained than the first. 

“I hope y’ll be comfortable here.” He cleared his throat, evidently more polite than anyone you’d worked for before. It was much appreciated, and perhaps partially explained his overly friendly nature.

Perhaps the staff here were just so devoid of new people coming through the doors they found it hard to fall into the expected ‘social norms’ of total formality all the while. 

“Of course, sir.” You curtseyed swiftly, “I am sure I will be.” 

Your statement was followed up with silence, a brief one at that but it’s intensity was only fuelled by the unwavering seconds long stare of Mr Morgan.

“We will leave you in peace, sir.” Mrs Radley then quickly interjected, a wordless nod of acknowledgement from the wealthy master of the house.

With an unfamiliar sense of unease in your gut, you only hoped the new nerves of being in this house wore off you all once you had settled in. Everyone seemed to act so strange, and you just hoped it was simply because your arrival was some form of ‘excitement’ for them. 

Surely a maid couldn’t genuinely bring anyone that sort of fond joy?


	2. Deep Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first evening at Sage House draws in. Further intrigue and mystery surrounding the handsome man of the house stirs your curiosity, your confusion only deepened by an odd experience and some whispered words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so pleased to receive so much positively feedback in the first chapter of this Fic! Thank you all so much for reading, I appreciate your support immensely.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and apologies, it’s not as long as I want it to be but I plan to wrap this story up in maybe 2 more chapters.

Your first evening at the manor had been one filled with constant questions and a sense of misplace. You had attempted to tell yourself over and over for the first few hours that you just felt out of place due to this weary old manor being the complete juxtapose of the homes you were used to working in.

But the more you lingered over the slightly odd behaviour of the very few souls who resided here, you felt increasingly more uncomfortable. It was as if they knew something you didn’t.

In your small room, candlelit alongside the last fading light of the sun - you had been trying to make the space as homely feeling as possible when the sound of a small bell jingling went off on the panel in your room, alerting you that your presence was required. After studying the list of room names, you quickly caught on that you were being summoned to the dining hall.

Smoothing the skirts of your dress, you scurried out onto the landing and down the stairs with practised haste that was collected and astute. Following the long corridor, you tried to remember little of the brief room tour Mrs Radley had given you after your first introduction with Mr Morgan.

Luckily for the sake of your embarrassment, you had found the high ceiling dining room, with it’s long table that esteemed far more guests that you imagined ever walked this house. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Except for Mr Morgan, sitting along at the head of the table.

Your heart ached so, it must of been very isolating for him. Or perhaps he was a man happy with his own company. Who were you to ask the question?

Collecting your composure and brushing your personal thoughts aside, you smiled attentively as you wandered to your master’s side.

“You called for me, sir?” You asked politely, “is there anything I can get you?” Your helpful tone added, eyes subtly surveying the plentiful food on the table. The runner filled with plates of vegetables, meats and several gravy boats filled with a few different sauces. You’d heard Mrs Radley mentioned the head cook, and how he rarely made appearances - so you were not to worry about being introduced to him. A rather odd statement, you felt.

Shaking his head softly, Mr Morgan finished the mouthful of whatever liquid was in the fancy glass cup (Amber... whisky perhaps) and turned his blue eyed gaze back to you.

“Nothin’, thank you.” He advised, leaving you feeling marginally puzzled for a few moments. “Have a seat.”

Now you were even more puzzled.

Servants and maids NEVER sat with the masters of the house. It was most inappropriate and highly frowned upon by society. But already this place had become apparently clear it wasn’t like most ‘affluent wealthy homes’.

“Sir...?” You queried, hesitating on the spot momentarily to check whether you’d heard him right.

The man gestured his hand to the chair by his right, monosyllabically mumbling ‘sit’ again. This time you certainly plonked yourself down in the high back wood and fabric dining chair, quietly anxious as to what might be going on.

There must of easily been a minute where little was exchanged, as your soul was quietly aware of it’s growing unease in the silence. Fidgeting slightly in your spot, you looked into your lap nervously.

“I take it this is a lot different to the place y’ were at before?” The master of the house started, cutting through something on his plate . The sound of his voice alarmed you slightly from the whirlpool of anxious musings in your mind, and you did your best to force a smile of total composure.

“Very different. But not in a bad way, I assure you.” You returned with the same tone of simple, polite conversation. All whilst minding to keep yourself and your opinions in your station. He was the master after all, and you were merely the maid. 

Another silence fell, and you found this environment stifling in it’s pressure - akin to the way desert heat immobilises a poor soul. 

From the corner of your eyes you noted the glance of Mr Morgan flit upwards from his plate, a studying look over your side profile that merely lasted a few seconds if that but felt incredibly striking all the same.

“I do things differently here.” The broad shouldered man announced, leaning back in his chair as his crimson red puff tie and pressed white shirt, along with the fine black suit let you know this man rarely forwent his formal dress code. Despite your timidity and new nerves, you couldn’t help but observe the man. He was just as handsome as he had been to you earlier, if not more so in this low lighting and the flames of the candle seemingly illuminating every fine detail of his chiselled features. 

Dismissing these private humoured fancies, you silently waited for a follow up to such statement, Mr Morgan’s eyes looking over at you with trained diligence as he seemed to be chewing his cheek lightly.

“What I mean is I won’t talk mean to y. Won’t look down on y.” He then added, large fingers circling the glass filled with the amber alcoholic liquid. “I don’t appreciate all that barkin’ orders crap. Saw enough of that with my damn father.” He seemed frustrated for a split second, before his sky blue eyes softened.

“You, Mrs Radley n’ George? You’re all the closest thing I got to family now and I want y’ to know I respect that. I don’t see myself above y.” 

This was all very odd - perhaps it was your complete shock that a household could even run like this but you felt incredibly overwhelmed in that very second. This was a completely alien dynamic. A large Manor House owner with probably plentiful funds treating his staff like family? Something had to be amiss. 

“With all due respect, Mr Morgan -“ you started, stammering softly as you wondered whether you were pushing your limits, “that is an incredibly kind sentiment sir, but you are above me. You have your home, your wealth. You are my master, and it is my role and duty to tend to your needs.”

Your nervous gaze flickered from the brassy coloured charger plate under your nose, looking back to Mr Morgan expecting to see anger when instead you saw a forlorn, lost look. Like a child with hopes and dreams they saw shattered before them. His eyes seemed to search, seeking an answer that neither of you were able to provide. It was an uncertain moment.

“Y’ don’t-“

“Mr Morgan.” 

The sudden and unannounced appearance of Mrs Radley made you practically jump a mile out of your seat. You’d not even heard the woman walk in, surely her heels hitting off the parquet flooring would of sounded? Or maybe you had been too lost in the moment. 

“I will attend to clearing the table. I will ask Miss (surname) to ensure your room is prepared for tonight.” The suggestion sounded more like a cloaked command, a command you were not about to ignore considering this woman was your senior.

Politely bowing your head, you excused yourself upwards from the chair and made your way from the long dining room - aware of the lingering presences of the two behind you. They seemed to wait in silence, like they were gauging your clearance from the room before even uttering a word. 

-

Ascending back into the warren of corridors upstairs, your eyes passed many of the portraits and paintings earlier - a skimming glance once again confirming their sullen colours and dusty frames. The paintings seemed as devoid of life and excitement as the building itself, you wondered whether that reflection was intended. Perhaps the vivacious colours had faded over time when the mansion had succumbed to it’s age and lack of care. Along with the already stacked questions in your mind, you wondered how and why Mr Morgan lived in the house when it appeared as worn as it was. Could he not be bothered to make repairs and freshen the place up?

Occupied with the mental questioning, you entered in the master suite as earlier pointed out to you by Mrs Radley. It was a lavish room, if not for the rather neglected theme that seemed to run its course through the entirety of the house. A four poster bed was situated on the left hand side, a small seating area beside a balcony door, and then a bathroom area off in a door to the right.

You did the bare minimum, stoking the fireplace on the wall opposite the end of the bed to warm the room. Using some of the hot embers, you prepared a bed warmer and tucked it under the many layers of thick covers on the large king size bed.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you noticed on one of the bedside units there appeared to be some trinkets. A small ornate clock for one, and then a jewellery box. 

Like a sneaky child, you glanced quickly left and right and gathered you were safe to take a peak. Footsteps light as a feather, you crossed the creaky floor to the bedside unit and gently clasped the medium sized jewellery box in your hands.

Timid hands prised the lid open, glad for the lack of musical box quality as you looked in one of the drawers - at which point you found a beautiful bracelet, which appeared to be adorned with sapphire stones.

It was a stunning piece, and so you could not help but pluck the bracelet from it’s place. The item had been in your grasp merely a second you felt as if the very floor around you caved and crumbled, a complete sense of detachment.

Your eyes felt as if they had all but disconnected, like you could not see or sense the physical room you were grounded in. The only thing you could make out was a milky white haze of images, barely noticeable and confusing to try and solve with the flurry of exhausted anxiety in your head.

The string of images cleared for a split second, and all you could see was the gleam of a knife, dirtied white tiles and the unmistakable pungent red gleam of blood.

It was over as soon as it had struck you, but by god had the experience harrowed you. Feeling petrified, you tossed the bracelet back into the box and slammed the thing down at it’s rightful place on the night stand. Was that some kind of curse? Who had the bracelet belonged to? All you knew was that you were tired, frightened and not in any mental state to be dealing with fathoming that right now.

Flying through the bedroom door, you halted in the corridor - catching your hastened breath when you could hear the distant murmur of talking, like people coming up the stairs. You knew straight away it was Mr Morgan and Mrs Radley, and so quickly dived behind the sharp corner at the end of the corridor just a few doors down.

Maybe, as frowned upon as it was, eavesdropping on their conversation might take away an element of their mysterious and odd behaviour since you’d arrived.

Soon the sound of hushed chatter was joined with the groaning creaks of the old floorboard beneath them, each footstep seemingly noisier than the last.

“... you must be careful what you say to the girl. I know you almost slipped up earlier, Mr Morgan.” Mrs Radley said in a low voice, and the lack of creaks and squeaks from the floorboard let you know the two had halted in the corridor some doors down from where you were hiding.

“I know... it’s... it ain’t easy.”

Your listening ears twigged to the ambiguous conversation, and a frown of curious concern knitted between your brows.

“Remember, she probably knows nothing. She does not know of her destiny here but we do, don’t we?” The housekeeper said in a hopeful tone, followed by a gentle sigh.

“Sure...” Mr Morgan seemed laboured.

“We must be careful not to scare her away. The truth... it may confuse her, frighten her. We must give the girl time to adjust, time to... settle.” Mrs Radley explained. There came a short grunt of agreement from the master of the house.

“And then when she finally realises, things can return to normal. How they were... do you remember that, sir?” Her voice emanated such childlike fondness and elation that you could only imagine that smile from earlier had captured the usually stern woman’s expression.

“I do.” Mr Morgan then answered, a tenderness to his voice that also reflected one of predilection, a dreaminess of sweeter days drawn by.

“... It was perfect.”


	3. The Other Half Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks of unassuming contentment with your work almost make you forget completely about the whispered words of Mr Morgan and Mrs Radley...
> 
> But they are quickly revived, and you learn the secret of the old house and it’s occupants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for all the support I’ve received on this. Reading all of your comments about your intrigue and questions about what the ‘destiny’ of the reader might be... well, buckle up because it’s only going to get more angsty from here.

In the aftermath of the rather bizarre and mysterious conversation between Mrs Radley and Mrs Morgan (which you had tactfully listened into) - you retired to bed that particular evening and tossed and turned for a while, not even the soft comfort of the sheets could bring your mind to ease.

As the ominous hours of darkness ticked on, you decided upon a plan of action with yourself. You would simply wait this out - and if you felt any danger then you could run and forget this place. As odd and rather unsettling as the secret conversation between the two had been, you felt no sense of manipulation or malice. You even wondered whether you’d heard it all right, or maybe your brain was leaping to dramatic conclusions over something that Mr Morgan and Mrs Radley might of intended as trivial. It was so vague to decipher right now, so with a clear plan in mind you intended to go about your role in a formal and unsuspecting manner.

-

How that approach seemed to serve you well. Before you knew it, a few weeks had passed and you were quietly getting on with your roles, having half forgotten the whispered conversation in the corridor that one night.

You finally felt... accepted in this large home. Mrs Radley stopped being as austere, you had many a laugh in the garden over a steaming mug of coffee with George. Even working as Mr Morgan’s staff, you had a good relationship you felt. He was miles from the masters of the house you were used to - cruel, dismissive men with nasty attitudes and poisonous tongues.

Mr Morgan was different. He took the time to talk to you, even if it was just the smallest chatter some days. He thanked you profusely for all you did. It was strange to be in the role of a housemaid and be treated with the respect of a family member. The tenderness and the feeling of belonging that so swamped your heart made your brain almost entirely erase all fragments of memory to do with the prior curiosities and skeptical wondering.

On this one particular clear spring morning, you were heading down the large oak staircase with a basket full of laundry. There were considerably less cobwebs about as of late, and the house almost seemed lighter and more vivacious. Part of you wished to ask Mrs Radley about her cleaning, but you didn’t want to appear to be cheeky.

With your smart black court shoes hitting the base of the stairs, you watched Mr Morgan enter the hallway from his study at the same time. The light flooded in from the large window panes that framed the front door, illuminating the handsome master of the home in a soft and sunny light. Dressed to the nines as always, he had a fine black coat draped over his arm.

“Good morning, sir.” You smiled, as he returned to the same niceties. 

“Wanted to take a walk in the garden.” He soon said, as you stood there with the basket leaning against your hip.

“Would y’ join me?”

Your lips parted to answer, but your brain faltered to let the words slip. Of course you wanted to join him, but it was never your place to put ambling and pleasure over your duties.

“Mr Morgan I would be delighted, but I have washing to attend to.” You sighed, glancing to the basket. The master of the home surprised you when he shook his head.

“The washin’ can wait. Please join me.” His voice sounded more of a command, although lacked any harshness or intimidation. It just seemed he wanted to spend time with you.

So, obeying your new orders, you set the basket down on one of the steps on the grand oak staircase and went to grab your longline grey coat from the utility storage space by the front door, following Mr Morgan out into the fresh sunshine.

You rarely spent much time outdoors, but you had been noticing a gentle progression of the gardens. They seemed pushed back on their wily untamed foliage, the unkempt ferns and ivy vines all cut back. Suddenly the place looked a lot more like a garden.

And to make things even lovelier, some of the spring flowers began to bloom. In the borders by the stone wall that surrounded the property, sweet snowdrops clustered in pretty white patches in the otherwise miry mud. A gorgeous symbol of the new season.

“I love spring.” You said, strolling beside Mr Morgan as the pair as you wandered between the newly planted borders and flower beds. “Maybe that’s the reason things have been feeling rather different recently.”

A small smirk captured the corner of the master’s lips.

“How so?” He asked, glancing over at you, his eyes gleaming in tender humour and intrigue.

Sighing softly, you constantly were battling with the societal conventions of ‘your place’, and that you were merely a maid... it felt difficult to answer some of his questions when it required you to speak out of turn.

“Just...” you sighed, he would only keep pushing if you didn’t explain yourself. “I’ve noticed the house feels airier, cleaner. Less heavy.” You started, twiddling your fingers to occupy yourself as the pair of you walked.

“The garden is much improved too. I can only assume it’s spring fever.” You were quick to add, glancing briefly at Mr Morgan with a sweet smile. As you trained your glance on him, it felt as if his gaze had been longing onto you minutes before you’d even spared him a glance.

There was a short pause, before a pretty set of flowers caught your eye. Beautiful bluebells, they were a few weeks early, but they added divine pops of colour to the otherwise bold greens and browns that dominated the garden at Sage House.

“I agree, this house hasn’t felt this good in years.” Mr Morgan announced from just behind you, as you had stepped forwards a few paces to admire the flowers.

“... I highly doubt spring has much to do with it.” He then said, a more serious tone that pulled you back to the centring your focus on the master of the house.

His cool blue eyes settled on you, as a cloud began to pass its way over the sun, dulling the previously brilliant glimmer.

“I’ve seen so many springs come n’ go here and every one of them were the same.” He explained, eyes never leaving yours. “Ain’t nothing changed ‘til you came here.”

Your jaw hung slack a little, you weren’t sure how to take that comment. Was he humouring you? The serious set expression on his handsome face told you otherwise.

The man seemed to have a mental battle with himself for a split second, fists tightening slightly at his jaw clenching.

“I’ve been wantin’ to speak to y’ about this for so long now...” his voice appeared strained and conflicted.

“I beg your pardon, sir... but I-“ you never got the chance to finish your words.

“Y’ came back. I always knew that y’ would. We all did. Me, Mrs Radley, George-“ his energy seemed to frenzy a little, sending your body into an uncomfortably grip of unease.

“Mr Morgan I do not know what you’re talking about.” You urged back, trying to steady your voice which you felt was becoming increasingly panicked by the second.

His brows knitted together in a restless frown, eyes pleading like that of a dog desperately searching for a sign from it’s owner.

“Y’ must remember. We...We lost you...” his hands reached out and took your own, at this point you were stunned in panicked confusion you couldn’t move, let alone utter a word.

“You’re just like her, y’ look... just like her...” Those blue eyes cast the pain with no attempt to hide it, like a film projecting onto a large canvas.

“The bluebells... she... loved the garden too.” The anguish was creeping into his voice, his attention fading from you for a moment before he fixated back to you.

“Eliza please, y’ have to remember.” 

Eliza? You were (name)! And this was too much too handle right now. Seemingly all the pots that had been boiling had now reached their very limits, and spilled into this deluded truth.

“Mr Morgan, I apologise but you’re very much mistaken!” You cried, the overcast clouds that rolled in a thunderous and intimidating shade of gun metal grey. Shoes slipping slightly in the damp grass, you wrenched yourself free of his grip and pelted like a skittish doe back to the front door of the house - very much aware of the man chasing at your heels.

“Eliza! Please-“ he cried out, desperately crying out that name with all the agony of a man who had lost something special.

“Leave me, Mr Morgan! You are mistaken-!”you had now begun to sob, deeply disturbed by the event that had seemed to transpire out of nowhere. Wet shoes slipped dangerously on the polished steps of the staircase, and you dashed recklessly up towards your small room, the only sound between the master’s desperate cries and your own sniffles being that if your thudding footsteps as you raced upstairs.

“Please, just listen!” He was begging from the bottom of the staircase, but you could not find the courage through this sense of frightened terror to even think about facing the man. It was as if he was in some fixated delusion, the way he had tried to desperately drill this fanciful idea into your head that you were some woman he had lost? It was ridiculous.

Locking your door, you tossed the brass key across to the side cabinet and threw yourself down onto the bed with a frustrated huff, the tears spilling uncontrollably down your cheeks. All you could do, was huddle your knees into your chest and try to subdue your racing thoughts.

-

In a fit of contempt, Mr Morgan tossed his coat to the ground and stormed into his office. Scurrying from the dining room after hearing the raucous, Mrs Radley followed the clearly frustrated master into his office.

“Mr Morgan sir, whatever is-“

“It’s not her! She’s not Eliza!” He bellowed, storming over to his desk as he snatched and hurled a glass at one of the bookcases, the piece shattering into tiny crystallised fragments and splintering to the floor.

A quiet moment passed, the housemaid calmed herself and linked her hands neatly across her stomach.

“Why, of course she is, Sir.” Mrs Radley returned, Mr Morgan staring angrily over his shoulder at his housemaid - his deep blue eyes filled with all the anger of a lassoed wild stallion.

“She isn’t, godammnit.” He cursed, clenching his teeth as he stood behind his desk, facing the window and staring at the rain clouds dominating the previously tranquil skies.

“She doesn’t remember. She said I’m mistaken.” He muttered some moments after, his head hanging in bitter defeat.

“Maybe I’m just some old fool. Who am I kidding? Eliza ain’t comin’ home.”

Mrs Radley’s heart broke within her chest. She had watched this man as a child, playing with his toy horses and laughing and smiling. She’d seen all his highs and lows... Eliza had brought him so much happiness, and she couldn’t let that escape him again... not after everything it had put them all through. The years of misery, the house sinking into what Mrs Radley assumed would be irreparable destruction. The grandeur of the Sage House she knew, fading into nothing but memories. 

No, this all had to unfold as she planned...even if it meant lying to him to protect him. She could not let the house and it’s legacy fall victim to his broken heart again. 

“She is home, master.” She reassured, “when Eliza’s spirit crossed over, her memory would have been scarce. We just need to show (name), remind her who she really is.” The housemaid advised, and she could visibly see Mr Morgan’s tense stance lessen just a fraction.

“She will see,” Mrs Radley cooed, a flash of scheming in her old eyes, “and you two shall be one.”

-


	4. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Radley's sinister intentions are revealed, and you become the puppet caught up in her game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going along adding tags as I go... but I just wanted to mention there is like poisoning/drugging mentioned in this chapter so please be careful if you are sensitive to that sort of thing!  
> This fic is kind of going to get a little fantastical and surreal (not too much so) over the next few chapters, for the mere sake of making this a dramatic and hopefully thrilling story. 
> 
> Props to the one person who commented about this fic reminding them of the Haunted Mansion LMAO. I was like YESSSSS SOMEONE GOT IT! Don't ask me why but the romantic plot of that movie always got me, so yes it's a rather large inspiration in this fic. (Don't ask me why I just rewatched it recently and then couldn't stop thinking about it ajdhajdhasjkd)
> 
> I'll shut up now and get on with the story :)
> 
> **Another cookie for the person who can notice the link between my chapter titles...**

The tears that flooded your system had soon dried as fast as they had come; leaving you with nothing but sniffles and confusion. Everything had been so well up until now, why had that encounter been so frightening?

Maybe it was the sheer desperation that occupied Mr Morgan’s eyes. And the fact you knew you were not the antidote to his ongoing misery and grief.

Time had passed, you weren’t sure how long. The house outside of your bedroom door was still, no sounds of major distress or upset, the entire incident had left you feeling just as out of place and anxious as when you’d first arrived. You felt it perhaps unfair and unempathetic of you brain to do so, but you were battling the urge to collect your things and leave this place. Mr Morgan was probably a very unwell and poorly man – his ideas of you being his lost ‘Eliza’, were incredibly delusional.

Climbing out of bed, you paced the room and argued internally with what step to take next. Should you stay and attempt to figure out the root of this strange perception from the master of the home or leave? Surely you could sneak out later with little fuss?

A few soft knocks at the door caused you to jump within your own skin, the hairs on your body positively standing on end.

“It’s me, Miss. Please open the door.” Mrs Radley’s astute tones stated softly from the other side of the wood. You knew better than to bar this woman out, she was your superior after all and you didn’t want to appear to be dramatic. In fact, hearing her voice had somewhat eased you. Surely she could help you shed more light on all this.

Unlocking the door with a heavy click, you allowed Mrs Radley in, the thin woman skirting into your room with a concerned look on her face.

“Oh Mrs Radley…” your voice wavered uncontrollably, even thinking about the earlier encounter still made you feel emotional. “There’s been a terrible mistake, Mr Morgan- he thinks…” the older woman cut off your trembling tones, raising her hand to silence you in a rather solemn looking manner.

What she said next surprised you immensely. You had been expecting understanding, and an explanation perhaps.

“There are no mistakes, Miss.” She uttered, voice was cold and plain as any emotionless object. “This is your destiny. You _are_ Eliza.” Her voice stressed importance, urging you to conform to this madness. Wounded by her equally as blindly deluded view, your face creased into a horrified scowl.

“Mrs Radley – I am not this Eliza girl!” you snapped back, “I imagine you are all hurt, clearly whoever she was, she was important – but I assure you I’m not her!”

Mrs Radley appeared to be looking through you, as if you were merely a glass bottle of a girl planted on the floorboards before her. The fact she did so, so openly, made every plea that fell from your lips seem incredibly futile. You had come to the quick conclusion that perhaps maybe the souls of this house were not sound of mind.

“You will come with me.” Mrs Radley said, “There is much to show you.” Her bony fingers laced around your upper arm, hands as cold as ice and the grip of a strongman. You struggled just enough, enough for her to dig her nails into your flesh as she guided you out of the room like a guard restraining a prisoner, walking you along the landing. Griping, you attempted to force your heels to the floor but she only kept pushing which _forced_ you to walk with her soldier-like steps. Whatever tour she was forcing you on, you would have to partake.

-

You’d never been this far into the heart of the home upstairs. You’d had no reason too. The rooms all back here were disused, and it was Mrs Radley’s job to keep them maintained. Back here, the cobwebs still draped from furniture and dust caked every cabinet top and picture frame. On one of the walls, there was a large framed picture. The woman depicted was beautiful – dressed in the prettiest dress, the smile of a starlet and all the grace of a queen.

And she happened to look a lot like you. In that very moment, it felt as if your heart had turned to stone and plummeted down from your chest.

“She was everything to Mr Morgan.” Mrs Radley spoke up, squeezing your arm for effect as she glared right at you. “ _You_ are still _everything_ to Mr Morgan.” Her voice was vindictive, but underneath the fierce statements you could gather there was almost a convincing intonation to her growls… convincing herself too perhaps as well as you?

A force told you to bite your tongue and not waste your breath, you felt as if you could scream and shout until the cows came home and this woman would not stop. None of them would. You felt your only escape at this point would be to throw yourself from one of the windows upstairs, even then that could not guarantee you would escape with your life.

The tour continued, back down the corridor and into the master’s bedroom, a place you were quite familiar with considering your household role as a maid.

Mrs Radley headed to the bedside table as soon as she entered the room with you, picking up the same jewellery box you had done a few weeks prior. A sickly feeling unfurled in your stomach as the housekeeper picked out that sapphire bracelet, the very object that had caused you to have some kind of strange experience.

“Mr Morgan gifted this to Eliza as a present the night before their wedding.” Mrs Radley detailed, seeing the uncomfortable look on your face but at this point, was choosing to ignore stuff like this anyway. “You must wear it.” She began walking back in your direction with the bracelet.

You recoiled, frankly frightened of the piece of jewellery. Now knowing it had belonged to the parted Eliza, it made you even more wary of its deceptive beauty.

“I cannot.” You responded warily, a bold fear encompassing your eyes. Your feet clumsily backed up a few paces, but the woman kept advancing.

“You will.” She lurched out like a snake, grasping your wrists and hauling you towards her viciously. For a skeletal older woman she embodied the power and strength of a burly man. Before you could think to react, she had pressed the item into your palm and without a second’s haste, the images from before flooded your mind again.

The knife gleaming in the hazy light, the unmistakable harrowing crimson sheen of blood.

It was all too much.

You let out a terrified screech, hand launching the bracelet across the room where it landed on the small rug by the crackling heart – heart racing as fast as wild horses in your chest and your brain still fuzzy and sluggish from the mental imagines that had taken over your brain.

“What happened to Eliza!?” you demanded, surely the woman must of known. These images… the knife, the blood… they must have been alluding to Eliza's death. Why else would such images be connecting to a bracelet? Perhaps the spirit of the poor woman was really still around, and maybe she was trying to protect you in some way. 

“She was stabbed multiple times,” Mrs Radley answered, unintentionally corroborating the visions attached to the bracelet. Her voice seemingly frustrated like that of a parent on their last tether. She seemed to only be telling you placate you. “We never found her killer.”

You raised your eyes to her coldly. “Did you kill her Mrs Radley?” there was a primal hatred occupying your glance, and it was met with a scoff, of all things.

“Kill her? My girl, never. She was the one thing keeping Mr Morgan here, keeping this house as radiant as ever. Why do you think we were so desperate to have you?” she growled, pacing over to the rug as she snatched up the bracelet again in her hands.

“You will fulfil Eliza’s role. You will be Mr Morgan’s bride tomorrow and I won’t let anything stand in my way!” she roared, filled with self-importance. A self-importance that was very much giving her game away.

“Rather than tell him the truth, you would rather lie to your master and let him believe I am his lost love?” you felt a painful ache in your heart for Mr Morgan, and a seething rage for a very selfish Mrs Radley. “You want to believe I am Eliza just as badly as Mr Morgan does, it seems.”

She flashed you a cocky and downright malicious smirk, one that almost congratulated you on connecting the pieces.

“And you wish to believe there is a circumstance in which you will obtain the high ground.” She cocked her head at you, a patronising look on her face. “You will do as your told. You will be Eliza and marry the master tomorrow.”

“I cannot let you lie to him like this!” you cried, “It is not fair to him.”

“You don’t understand, girl.” Mrs Radley’s teeth were gritted as she got into your face. “You won’t have a choice.”

Her words stung your ears, and the following slap of her hand across your cheek knocked you down to the floor with incredible force, as you whacked your head in the process. Ringing sounded in your ears, and you felt that awful familiar cold and hot feeling combining, the stars fuzzing in front of your eyes. You were going to faint…

Through half lidded eyes, desperately fighting to keep your consciousness – you whimpered helplessly, witnessing the old cow slipping the bracelet over your wrist. Her hand then dipped into her apron pocket as she knelt over you, revealing a small blue vial containing an unknown liquid.

Her stick like fingers then clamped at your nose, forcing your mouth open to be able to breathe as you yelled out – the opportunity stolen by Mrs Radley who tipped the contents to the back of your throat. The liquid had the consistency of a drink, yet it’s flavour was that of a potent alcohol – on a major scale. It’s warmth scolded the back of your throat as it travelled down, burning with acidic effect in your stomach. Like an injured animal, cries stolen by the relief of a bullet – the liquid’s true efficacy shone through, and it silenced the very last of your futile cries.

-

Mr Morgan had been sitting alone in his office, still incredibly frustrated by how the day had panned out. He had been staring at the glass of whisky on the desk before him for some minutes, secretly loathing the silence where his head could berate him of all he had lost.

That was before he had heard the screams.

Your screams.

The master leapt up, leaving the office and his suit jacket hung on the back of the chair as he rushed upstairs towards the source of the noise, tugging nervously at the collar of his white shirt as if to loosen it’s choking grip.

The man burst through the door, finding you now quiet and still as you laid on the floor – Mrs Radley _tenderly_ supporting your head in her lap.

“What happened!?” he cried, “Is she okay?” Mr Morgan fell to his knees beside you – the fire in the hearth burning hot near his back. He could not care less for the heat intensity, as he stared down at you. You looked peaceful, at rest… and just everything he had remembered of his beautiful Eliza.

“The process is complete. I helped her remember… Eliza’s spirit has fully regained control of the mortal vessel,” the housekeeper lied with such a cunningly knowledgeable tone. “I’ve learned that the action of such can often render a person unconscious.”

Mr Morgan silently looked over you, stroking the side of your cheek softly as he took your hand tenderly in his own – smiling at the sapphire bracelet that enveloped your slender wrists.

“I can’t believe it… She’s finally gonna be home, where she belongs.” He whispered, with a childlike wonder and awe. This was everything he had wanted for so long, and Mrs Radley knew it was all she had wanted to… Sage House to be the proud icon it had been in Arthur’s father’s day of rule. She would not let it fall to ruin any longer over some silly heart break.

The sly woman knew she would only have a window of about a day to pull this all of successfully. The liquid composition she had poured down your throat? A hallucinatory, sedation drug that would give her the ability to hypnotise you into thinking you were in fact Eliza. The efficacy of the drug would wear off around midnight tomorrow.. and if by then you had not married Master Morgan? You would forget the Eliza identity and all hope would be ruined. The act of marriage could be the only thing to cement the belief forever. So it was no surprise the housekeeper was quite intent on getting your new identity drilled into your skull as soon as possible.

“We need to let her rest.” Mrs Radley whispered, watching the tenderness on Mr Morgan’s face as he gently lifted you from the floor, your limbs spilling limply from his arms as you cradled you carefully on route to your bedroom.

But not your servant’s quarters. _Eliza’s room._ Down the corridors, further into the belly of the old house. The lavishly decorated quarters of the bride to be – stolen too soon and returned back far too late.

Luckily, Mrs Radley did a fairly good job of keeping the room relatively neat knowing that Mr Morgan would sometimes frequent the room, reminiscing about days gone by.

Lowering you carefully into the comfort of the plush bed, the master withdrew his hold slowly and cautiously, as if he were frightened of breaking you.

“She should be fine by the morning.” Mrs Radley instructed Mr Morgan, who had lingered but a moment to witness your sleeping figure – before retreating to leave you in peace. His excited energy was hard for Mrs Radley to miss, as she studied his form disappearing through the doorway.

The housekeeper waited with you around an hour or so, when she first saw the signs of your stirring – and leapt into life to ensure the drug would work as intended.

She whispered your new name, your past, everything she needed to feed into your brain to get your delusions to set in and work as if they were your own grounded beliefs. After listing the crucial details, she said back in the chair beside the bed and watched as you affirmed the information with yourself. Even your demeanour had changed, after being informed you were in fact a wealthy woman due to marry the master of Sage House. You held yourself with all the grace and self-importance of a woman who knew she had it all (as well as you could of course, sitting upright in bed)

Oh, how Mrs Radley smirked her most poisonous smirk. She was about to have everything back under her control, living out her former years as an incredibly house proud woman working in the fanciest house in the region. She could not lose that sense of belonging ever again… or risk losing the home to further neglect.

No, you were the perfect sacrifice to ensure her selfish dreams became a reality.


End file.
